


A Load Of Balls

by greyknight



Category: Pokemon, Rentaghost
Genre: Christmas, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Slapstick, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyknight/pseuds/greyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Meaker wants the ghosts to come up with some product ideas for Christmas, but there is an unexpected problem with Claypole's idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Load Of Balls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romana03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romana03/gifts).



The Meakers were preparing for Christmas, and the ghosts were helping put up the decorations. Nadia Popov, the Scandinavian spirit, was floating in midair beside the Christmas tree, winding a long strand of tinsel around it as Hazel McWitch fed it up to her. Timothy Claypole, who had been a mediaeval jester while he was alive, was creating a set of crackers, for which he provided his own jokes. He chuckled to himself as he wrote down the puns.

"You could stop goggling and lend us a hand!" said Miss Popov. "It's ''giggling'', ye daft foreign sprite." said McWitch immediately. "Claypole, see if you can find something to put on top of this tree." Claypole leapt to his feet and picked up Tiny Timothy, his fool's sceptre. "I believe I have a fine solution, one that will be admired by all!" He waved Tiny Timothy in the direction of the tree and a three-pointed jester's cap, like his own, materialised on top of it. "There! The crowning glory!" he said proudly, reaching up to jangle its bells.

"Ye've no sense of style, ye appalling apparition." said McWitch, waggling her fingers. The cap disappeared and was replaced by a tall black pointed hat with a festive tartan bow tied around it. "There! Much better." Miss Popov landed back on the ground and plucked Tiny Timothy out of Claypole's hands. "Don't either of you know the tree should be topped by a stair?" She waved the sceptre at the tree again and the hat transformed into a glittering four-pointed star.

At that moment there was a crash from the hall and Ethel Meaker's voice was raised in indignation. "My vase! Get back here, you natty old horse!" In burst Dobbin, a pantomine horse-skin Claypole had accidentally brought to life. In his teeth he held four Christmas stockings, all with the name "Dobbin" on them. "Oh, Dobbin!" said Miss Popov, "Just because you have four foots does not mean you can have four stocks!" Ethel stormed into the room. "There you are, you old nag! That was my good vase! What do you have to say for yourself?" She advanced on the panto horse meaningfully. Dobbin panicked, touched his nose with a hoof, and disappeared elsewhere. The stockings he'd been carrying fell to the floor.

Harold Meaker, Ethel's husband and the owner of Rentaghost, came in with a mug of tea and looked around. "Ah, the place is looking very good. Well done, spooks. Now, does everybody have the new Christmas product designs I asked for? Business has been slow lately, we need something to get our name out there."

Hazel pulled a stoppered flask containing a yellow potion out of her pocket and held it up. "Behold!" she announced. "I am beholding." said Mr Meaker. "What's it do?"

"This is my new animal transformation potion!" said the Scottish witch. "It will temporarily turn the person who drinks it into the first animal they mention. Just think how the wee kiddies would enjoy that! Why, you could even turn yourself into a sea mammal!"

"I'm not sure I see the porpoise in that." said Ethel. "What else could you do with it?" Hazel unstoppered the container and had a sniff before answering. "Why, anybody could turn into any animal at all! A surgeon could become a sturgeon, an emigrant could turn into an elephant, a Belgian into a penguin, and a jogger could be a frogger!"

"Well, _I_ am elastic about this idea!" said Nadia Popov happily. "I have always dreamed of what it would be like to be a little fluffy bunny living in a whirring!" she finished. "You mean a _warren_." corrected Mr Meaker. "No need to split hares!" laughed Claypole. "If a rabbit had a choice between your jokes and a fox, it'd pick the fox." snapped Hazel.

"Alright, Nadia, what's your proposal?" said Mr Meaker. "Oh, I have been waiting for many years, but my darlink Claypole has yet to make an offer." she said, making eyes at the jester. "No, I mean what is your idea?" explained Meaker. She snatched up a book that was sitting by the fireplace. "I have made this bulk! Every page has a picture of a small elf, and if you have a problem you can pop out one of the elves and it will come to life and enlist you." she explained, holding it open so everyone could see. "I think you mean ''assist''. And the market's already saturated with elf-help books." said Mr Meaker. "Alright Claypole, what have you got for us?"

The jester went to the table and picked up five small spheres, each painted half-red, half-white, with a small button on the border between the two halves. "I have invented a way to make monster-keeping economical and convenient!" he announced, displaying the spheres proudly. "Very compressive," said Miss Popov, peering at them, "but why are you showing us your balls?" Claypole set four of the spheres back on the table and held the remaining one in his hand. "Observe!" he said, clicking the button. At once it sprang open on a hidden hinge, and a stream of light flew out and hit the floor, where a strange monster materialised. It looked like a red-eyed squat green frog, and on its back was a large bud, as of some sort of oversized plant.

"My!" said Harold, setting his mug on the table and walking up to the creature to inspect it. "Very good! Children will love these. What can it do?" he asked. He poked at the bud with a pen, and the monster bristled towards him. "Bulbasaur!" it exclaimed, as a small puff of pollen escaped the bud, enveloping Mr Meaker's face. His eyelids fell closed as he slumped to the ground and began to snore.

"Harold!" shouted Ethel, running to his side. She pushed Miss Popov aside as she moved, and the foreign spook stumbled up to the monster. She looked at the large bud in alarm. "Is that a flower? I'm allergic to... ah... aaahhh... aaaatchoo!" she said, involuntarily disappearing. Immediately she reappeared on top of the Christmas tree, which began to topple towards Hazel. "Ach, look oot!" said the witch, leaping out of the way as Miss Popov shrieked. She landed on the table, and her flask of potion splashed into the mug sitting there. There was a bright flash of light from under her; she had landed on Claypole's balls!

Four other monsters ran out from under the table. A small blue penguin-like creature strutted out confidently, followed by a floating purple orb covered in odd holes from which a thin green mist issued; a skull-and-crossbones decorated its front. On the other side of the table, a tiny bluish humanoid leaped out athletically, followed by a round waddling creature with three green lumps on its head; two tiny tears ran down its face as it looked into Miss Popov's face where she had landed. "B-bonsly?" it said, querulously.

"Oh, the poor little thing is sad!" she said, pulling herself onto her knees and reaching to give it a hug. At once the monster hopped back and produced a rock from somewhere, which it proceeded to throw at her roughly. "Ah!" she shouted. "It appeared to be cute!" Claypole, who had been trying to help up Hazel and retrieve the rest of the now-empty spheres, turned around to see what was going on. "Are you alright, Miss Popov?" he asked. "It had a big rack!" she complained. "Gadzooks! Alright, back in with you all!" he said, raising one of the spheres and pointing it.

The blue humanoid monster struck a karate pose and leapt in front of its friends defensively. "Machop!" it said, aggressively. The purple orb floated over everybody's heads and began to exude a foul-smelling thick greenish fog. "Koffing!" it wheezed as it did so, describing circles in the air to disperse the smog as widely as possible. "Eeek!" said Nadia as her vision was obscured. "It is using a smoke scream!" she exclaimed. "Ugh, that's rotten!" yelled Ethel. " Claypole! Get these things under control!" Mr Meaker's nose wrinkled in his sleep, but he was otherwise undisturbed.

Claypole rummaged around the table, blindly trying to find Tiny Timothy. At last he found it and made to pick it up. But holding the other end was the little blue penguin-like monster, who had clambered up onto the table unseen in the confusion. "Piplup!" it said, pulling its end of Tiny Timothy hard. "Let go, you little rascal!" said Claypole, pulling back. "Pip pip lup!" said the monster, as it opened its beak and shot out a stream of bubbles. They flew towards the jester's face, throwing him off-balance as the little monster hopped backwards and vanished into the smoke with the fool's sceptre.

"Oh, I've had enough of this!" said Ethel. "McWitch?"  
"McYes?"  
"McWindows!"  
"McDone!"

Hazel made a sign and all the windows in the room flew open. She made another sign and a fierce wind started to blow, driving away the gas. But as the room came back into view, all the monsters had already disappeared to hide. "Alright, you spooks! Go find those little beasts quickly, before they cause any more trouble!" shouted Ethel. Meekly, the three ghosts touched their noses and vanished. Ethel walked over to where her husband was still sleeping on the floor and gave his head a nudge with her foot. "Oh, _do_ wake up, Harold." she snapped. Mr Meaker began to stir, making grumbling noises. "Oh... I must have dropped off." he said. "So did the tree." she retorted. "Claypole's monsters have gotten loose, I sent the ghosts after them. Get up off the floor, Harold, you're making the place look untidy. Give me a hand fixing this tree, will you?"

He got to his feet and found his mug amongst the mess on the table. "Let me just get a sip of tea for a second." he said, taking a drink. "Well, it's nice to see you have time to sit around drinking tea while the rest of us work!" said his wife sarcastically, trying to pick up all the baubles before they got stepped on. "Oh, don't be so catty, Ethel." answered Mr Meaker.

At once a strange feeling came over him. He dropped the mug, which splashed tea all over the carpet as he shrank into his clothes. "Harold!" shouted Ethel, dropping the baubles again. "Harold, stop shrinking this instant!" She tried to scoop up the pile of clothes and a small whitish cat looked up at her. "Meow?" it said, piteously.

* * *

In the kitchen, the ghosts had cornered the penguin-like monster near the sink. It brandished Tiny Timothy at them threateningly. "Pip lup lup piplup!" it said. "Does the wee beastie know how to use that thing?" asked Hazel. "Of course not!" replied Claypole. "Now, on three. One, two, three!" he said. "Piplup!" said the monster, bounding out of the way and pointing Tiny Timothy at the sink. Immediately, a whirlpool spiralled up from the drain, rapidly spilling out of the sink and flooding the kitchen. In a few seconds the three ghosts were turning in circles in the fast-spinning water. "Let's get out of here!" said Claypole, reaching for his nose; the others did likewise. Nothing happened. "We cannot escape!" wailed Nadia.

"I'll fix that pesky penguin!" said Hazel, making a sign towards the little creature where it stood on top of a washbasin floating past. It stuck out Tiny Timothy at the same moment, and Hazel's spell had no effect. The monster glowed red for a moment and looked angry, beating its chest with one little blue flipper. "Be careful! It is storing synergy!" said Miss Popov, insightfully. Climbing off the washbasin, the monster made its way over the flotsam towards the door, bounding onto a wooden chopping-board before leaping onto Nadia's head. "Aiee!" she yelled, grappling for it. "I have it! I have...." she tailed off, spotting a vase of flowers floating past. "Aaaaatchoo!" Both she and the monster disappeared, and there came a cry, a crash, and a splash from the garden. The whirlpool in the kitchen disappeared, and the two ghosts fell to the floor from where they'd been treading water.

"Oof!" said Claypole, collapsing in an undignified heap. "That was a poor landing!" he said. "It was worse from below!" said Hazel, pushing him off her. "Where did they go?" she asked. Claypole was peering out of the kitchen window. "Odds bodkins! I believe they have fallen through the ice into the pond! I shall summon her out immediately!"

A large block of ice materialised in the middle of the kitchen; within it, Miss Popov could be seen, perfectly still, clutching the blue monster. "Oh, the poor wee dears!" said Hazel, sympathetically. "If only she'd reappeared a bit to the left, she'd have landed in the vegetable garden instead!" she commented. "Yes," said Claypole, "and then she would have been as cool as a cucumber!" He roared with laughter.

Hazel threw open the cellar door, coughing as smoke poured out. "Bernie! Come up here, we need you to thaw out Miss Popov!" she yelled into the darkness. She stepped back as a pantomine dragon walked out, smoke still coiling from its nostrils. At the two ghosts' direction, he began very carefully melting the block of ice. Once their heads were free, Nadia began to complain. "I can't fool my feets!" she said. "Pip piplup!" said the little penguin, crossly. "We're going as fast as we can." said Hazel, placatingly. "Claypole, can't you get rid of that beastie?"

"At once, my dear McWitch!" he said, producing one of the red-and-white spheres. "Back in there with you!" He pointed the sphere and clicked the button; a stream of light struck the penguin-like creature and dematerialised it, before pouring back into the sphere. It wobbled in his hand a little, and then was still. Tiny Timothy clattered into the hollow space left in the ice.

Bernie continued gently warming up the ice as Ethel burst into the kitchen, carrying a white cat. "And what on earth are you? The human ice cube?" she said, gazing at the scene. She turned to Hazel. "Your stupid potion got into Harold's tea! Now look at him!" she complained, standing in front of the door and holding up the cat. "Meow?" said Mr Meaker. "Ah! 'Tis a sorry tail indeed!" laughed Claypole. "Oh, be quiet, you!" she answered. She stumbled forwards as the door opened, thumping into her as Dobbin trotted into the room, holding a lead in his mouth. "For goodness' sake, Dobbin, I'm not taking you for walkies now! There are still monsters on the loose!" scolded Ethel. "Go do something useful; the plants could do with being watered." Dobbin trotted off obediently.

Ethel turned back to the ghosts. "McWitch?"  
"McYes?"  
She hefted the cat up to eye level. "McAntidote!"  
"It'll have to McWait." said Hazel. "I'll need to get some more herbs, and we've only caught one of these wee critters so far." she explained. " _Wait?!_ " cried Ethel. "How am I supposed to talk to my husband when he's like this?" she wailed. "That is easily fixed, Mistress Meaker." said Claypole, climbing down off the ice where he had been retrieving Tiny Timothy. "I shall simply give him human speech, like so!" He waved the sceptre at the little cat.

"What is that fool blathering about?" said Mr Meaker's voice. "Oh! I can talk!" he realised. Ethel hefted him in her arms. "Right, I and the Amazing Talking Moggy are going back to the living room; you two, get those things caught!" she instructed. She turned and nearly bumped into Dobbin again as he entered with a watering-can held in his teeth. "Oh, get out of the way you stupid nag!" she said, bustling past. "Perhaps she could use Mr Meaker to put on a ventriloquist conformance at her amateur dramatic society." suggested Nadia. "Och, you can manage ''ventriloquist'' but not ''performance''?" said McWitch. "I am sure it would be a most expelling show!" insisted Miss Popov. "It would be the bee's kneecaps!". "Yes," agreed Claypole, "it would be the cat's miaow!" Hazel gave him a withering look and touched her nose, vanishing from the room.

Dobbin had gone to the potted plants on the windowsill and was sprinkling them with water. Suddenly, one of the plants began to move! "Bonnnnnsly!" it yelled, fleeing from the water. "Darlink, quickly!" said Nadia. "There's one, by the windmill!" Claypole looked around in confusion for a second before spotting the fleeing monster at the window. "I see it!" he said, fumbling for one of the spheres. It slipped out of his hand and rolled to the floor. "Darlink, you must keep a firm grip on your balls." she admonished. At last he managed to capture the creature; the sphere rocked back and forth as it struggled, but eventually the movement subsided.

* * *

Mr Perkins looked up from his newspaper at the noises coming from next door. "What do you suppose those Meakers are up to this time?" he asked his wife. She tutted and set down her book. "Oh, they've been banging about all day. Sometimes I think—" she paused and sniffed the air. "Can you smell that?" she asked. Mr Perkins took a sniff as well, and screwed his nose up in disgust. "Eugh! What on earth is it?" He spotted a tendril of yellowish-green smoke curling under the door. "I say!" he exclaimed, jumping up and opening the door. A layer of thick smog lay over their front hall. "Koffing!" came a noise from the middle of the foggy layer.

"What on earth?" said Mrs Perkins, joining her husband at the hall. "Where's it coming from, Alfred?" she wondered, looking down at the strange-smelling smoke. He waded out into the thick of it, not noticing a purplish round object float out of the way of his feet. "I think it's coming up through the floor!" he said, turning back to face her. "I'll bet it's that furnace of the Meakers!" he exclaimed. "You know it's malfunctioning, look how often it backfires! I'm going over there right now to have it out with them!" he said, opening the front door and crunching out into the snow. "I'm coming with you!" said his wife. The purple orb floated out behind her, keeping out of sight.

Ethel was passing the front door when there came a hammering at it. She hefted her husband, still in cat form, into one arm and opened the door with the other. "Now see here, Meaker!" began Mr Perkins, a green mist hanging about him. "You'd better prepare for trouble!" he continued. "Yes, and make it double!" added Mrs Perkins. "Where's all this green smoke coming from? It's that boiler of yours again, isn't it? Can't you do something about it? It's not safe!" ranted Mr Perkins. Just then, a small blue blur tried to run out of the front door. "Machop!" it shouted, trying to get past the Perkinses. "Get back inside, you!" said Ethel, trying to swipe at the little monster with her foot.

"What on earth is that? Some sort of monkey?" asked Mrs Perkins uncertainly. "It certainly is ugly." agreed her husband. "Chop! Chop!" came the angry response. "Careful, Rose! It looks violent!" said Mr Perkins. Claypole peered out of the kitchen door as the little monster advanced. "Get back, you!" said Mr Perkins, prodding at it. Suddenly the creature moved rapidly, easily picking them both up despite its small size. "Eeek!" screamed Mrs Perkins. "Maaaa... CHOP!" cried the monster, hurling them up into the sky. "Gadzooks! The Perkinses are blasting off!" said Claypole. "Yes, at the speed of light!" answered Ethel. "Meow! That's right!" put in Mr Meaker.

Claypole waved Tiny Timothy in the direction of the airborne neighbours. Still screaming, the Perkinses' flight was altered slightly so that they landed awkwardly on top of a snow-covered bush in the Meakers' front garden. Hazel appeared in the hall to investigate the noise, as the blue creature dodged back inside and ran past her into the living room. "McWitch! Do you have some of that memory potion you were making the other day?" asked Claypole, thinking quickly. She reached into a pocket and drew out a couple of small pastilles. "Yes, I made it into these. The potion makes awkward explanations easier to swallow." He took the two pastilles and deftly slipped them into the Perkinses' mouths, then he and Hazel touched their noses and vanished.

Ethel set down her husband the cat, and hurried out to help her two neighbours out of the bush. "Oh my goodness, are you alright?" she asked. Mr Perkins came to groggily. "What... we were coming over... to say something. I forget...." he mumbled. "You'd just come over to wish us a happy Christmas." Ethel told him. "But you slipped on some ice on the way out. Here, let's get you both up." she said, pulling him upright. "Oh... oh dear." said Mrs Perkins. "Well, happy Christmas, then. We'll, er, just be getting home. Come on, Alfred." The two trotted off, their heads still confused.

Ethel came back indoors, shooing her husband into the living room. McWitch and Claypole were trying to corner the little blue monster, but it kept making threatening gestures towards them. "Chop! Chop!" it said. "Okay." said Claypole. "One, two, three!" They both leapt, but the monster eluded them and they both fell to the floor. "Maaaaa... CHOP!" it cried, leaping in to deliver a karate strike. "Aieee!" wailed both of the ghosts.

But the blow passed harmlessly through them and struck the floor, bouncing off. "...chop?" said the creature, bemused. "It can't hit ghosts!" exclaimed Ethel. "Quickly you two, grab it!" Claypole jumped up and seized the little monster by one foot, dangling it in mid-air. "Chop! Chop!" it yelled, squirming. "Oh, no you don't." said McWitch, taking one of the red-and-white spheres from where they had fallen on the floor. "Back inside with ye!" she shouted, pressing the button. The light stabbed out, and soon the ball lay quiescent in her hand.

* * *

Hazel came into the kitchen, where Nadia was rummaging through the potions on a shelf. Bernie had gone back to the cellar to stoke the boiler, and wisps of black smoke came up through the floorboards. "What are ye after?" asked McWitch, coming up to the other spook. "Mr Claypole thinks that one of the monsters has escaped outboard!" she explained. "I am looking for a linguini potion so that I can try to call it back in."

"Ye mean ''outside'', and ''language''. Here, try the green one. No, on your left." suggested McWitch. Miss Popov took the indicated bottle and floated back down to ground level. She uncorked it, took a sniff, and drank. "Popov?" she asked. "Well, is it working?" asked Hazel. "Pop popov!" came the reply. Claypole came into the kitchen carrying the two remaining spheres. "Popov pop pop popov!" exclaimed Nadia, turning to him. Claypole looked between the two women questioningly. "What is happening?" he asked, as they headed towards the front door. "Miss Popov has taken a language potion to try and call th' wee beastie that escaped out there. She is speaking its native tongue." explained McWitch. Nadia went out into the snow and began calling. "Po-opov! Po-opov!"

"Koffing!" came a reply, as a small purple orb whooshed past into the house, trailing choking fog. The ghosts spluttered and touched their noses, transporting back indoors. McWitch made a sign and the front door slammed shut. "What a reek!" she said, choking. "I am sure the behaviour is merely in-stink-tive." said Claypole, reassuringly. "Pop popov pop pop ov!" said Nadia happily. "Yes, it's back indoors now." said McWitch, going into the kitchen and lifting down a small vial of red potion. "And I have just the thing for when it... there! Quick!"

The purple orb was trying to sneak out of the kitchen, and suddenly made a dash for it, emitting foul-smelling fumes. Nadia made a grab for the monster and McWitch dashed the red liquid towards its mouth. "...koffing?" it said, and the gas plumes coming from its body suddenly ceased. "I knew that laryngitis cure would come in handy!" said McWitch triumphantly, as Nadia took one of the red-white spheres. She pressed the button, and presently the purple monster was safely contained once more.

* * *

While McWitch went to gather herbs for Mr Meaker's transformation cure, the other two ghosts stalked down the hall, looking high and low for the last monster. "Do you think it is still aloof?" whispered Nadia, her speech back to normal. "You mean ''loose''." whispered back Claypole. "It must be in the house somewhere, there are no tracks outside." he answered. They checked the bedroom they were passing, and once they were sure it was empty they shut the door firmly behind them. Claypole materialised a sturdy padlock to make sure nothing could slip in. "We will soon find it like this." said Miss Popov, pleased with their cleverness.

They combed the upper floors and moved back downstairs. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Nadia caught side of a green shape disappearing through a door. "There it is!" she said, grabbing Claypole's arm. They rushed through the door after it, and saw the frog-like creature curiously pushing open the cellar door with a tentacle-like vine extruded from the plant bud on its back. "Don't go into the cellar!" shouted the two ghosts in alarm. Startled, the monster tripped and fell down the steps. Rumbling sounds came from below, and the green monster tottered back out through the door, scorched and covered in soot. "Bul... ba... saur...." it said waveringly, before stumbling and landing face-first on the floor.

"Bernie's flame was super-expressive! Quickly, Mister Claypole, hit it with your balls!" urged Nadia. Claypole pointed the final sphere and clicked the button; they watched the monster dematerialise and the stream of light re-enter the sphere. It wobbled twice and was still.

* * *

Mr Meaker was finally back to his old self. So much so, in fact, that he was giving Claypole a good telling-off. "I'm docking your wages for a month for all this mess!" he shouted. "In fact, I've half a mind to sack you altogether! The Perkinses could have been seriously injured, thanks to you and those stupid monsters!" Claypole stood quietly, looking suitably shamefaced. "And that's not to mention all the — yes, what is it?" said Mr Meaker, this last part directed to Hazel, who had just entered. "Would you like a pastille?" she said innocently, offering him the small sweet. "Oh, yes, thanks. My mouth _is_ a little dry." He popped it in and turned back to Claypole. "Er... what was I saying?" he asked, a confused expression passing over his face. "You were just telling us about the Christmas bonus." Claypole told him. "And we're very grateful, too." agreed McWitch. "Oh... well, I guess you deserved it. Alright then, good job." said Mr Meaker.

"And a malarial Christmas to us all!" said Miss Popov, clasping her hands happily.

**Author's Note:**

> ### BONUS STORY: The Tale of Rodney the Request
> 
> Once upon a time there was a Yuletide request called Rodney. Rodney was sent in by his owner, Romana, and very soon he was flying through the information superhighway to his assigned writer. But alas! for his writer had been brought low by the evil Jack Frost, and so Rodney languished in despair.
> 
> Just then, Elynross the fairy modmother appeared in a shower of light. "Lost little request, don't be sad!" she said, scooping him up. "I'll take you to the Land of the Pinch-Hitters, where there are writers galore!". And so Rodney flew off with his fairy modmother and was very happy.
> 
> In the Land of the Pinch-Hitters, many writers were shouting and competing with each other to be the first to take the lost requests that the fairies brought them. Rodney was soon snatched up and went away with the writer to their writing-hut. But misfortune struck! For the writer had accidentally taken the wrong request! The writer apologised to Rodney and brought him back to the fairy modmother, who once again announced him to the assembled writers. But nobody claimed Rodney this time. Time rolled by and soon it was the 22nd of December.
> 
> Just as all seemed lost, and Rodney was on the verge of tears, the fairy modmother leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Don't fret, little request. I have sent letters far and wide to five brave writers who have offered your fandoms!" Rodney grew hopeful, but dared not speak for fear of things going wrong again.
> 
> But at last a reply came from one of the five writers, and in a twinkling of an eye Rodney was whizzing through the information superhighway once more! He came to the writer, and the writer gave him a hug and told him it was going to be okay. They sat down together and worked out the outline of a story. Rodney was very excited.
> 
> But then, the cruel Jack Frost struck again! The writer's water pipes had frozen, and they had to be fixed urgently before any writing could be done! Rodney helped as best he could (which was very difficult since he didn't have any arms), and at last the pipes were fixed. But it was late at night, and the writer had to work early the next morning, so they had to go to sleep. Rodney sat up for hours, staring into the darkness. Would he get written on time?
> 
> The next day, the writer began to write the story. He used the outline which he and Rodney had discussed, and he put in many puns and terrible jokes. He put in characters, plotlines, Chekhov's potions, and more. And, at last, the story was complete! He uploaded it to the archive, and Rodney could finally relax.
> 
> "Happy Christmas, Rodney." said the writer.  
> "And God bless us, every one!" answered the little request.


End file.
